


i know everything you want

by theafterimages



Series: los angeles [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theafterimages/pseuds/theafterimages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson’s been away for two weeks. Zitao knows just how to welcome him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i know everything you want

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to E & S for betaing!

Jackson collapses face-first onto the bed, having somehow avoided tripping over the trail of clothes he and Zitao had left earlier. “ _Home_ ,” he says with a groan.

Zitao laughs quietly as he sits down next to him, trailing his hand along Jackson’s spine. Jackson’s still extra warm from the shower, his body dotted with stray water droplets that have sprinkled down from his still-damp hair. Zitao had towel dried it for him, though given that Jackson couldn’t stop touching him at the time, lazy caresses and gentle presses of his lips against Zitao’s skin, Zitao had been more than a little distracted from his task. 

Jackson’s always in zombie mode after the thirteen-hour flights between Hong Kong and Los Angeles. He’d slept enough on the plane that he wasn’t completely dead on his feet when Zitao had picked him up at the airport, but he’d nodded off a few times in the car. Zitao half-expects him to fall asleep again now, just like this, but between their quick stop at a drive-through on the way home and a long shower, Jackson seems to have gotten his second wind. As if to illustrate, he catches ahold of Zitao’s hand and pulls him down onto the mattress, then promptly curls up around him, his head propped against Zitao’s shoulder and his leg draped across both of Zitao’s. Zitao kisses the top of his head and wraps his arms around him, pulling him in closer. 

“Never want to sleep by myself again,” Jackson mumbles against Zitao’s collarbone.

Zitao smiles, rubbing his back. “Me, either,” he agrees quietly. A few of their friends had joked about how Zitao must like being able to spread out in their king-sized bed when Jackson’s away, but it’s actually been strange and unwelcome. He’s too used to how he and Jackson twine around each other at night, even when they’ve been arguing. Jackson needs touch more than anyone Zitao’s ever met, and Zitao doesn’t do well without it, himself.

He’s gotten plenty of it during the past hour and a half, barely able to get more than a few feet away from Jackson before they drift back to each other again. Zitao spares a guilty glance for the pile of luggage by the door. He’d meant to unpack and start a load of laundry while Jackson showered, he really had, but Jackson had tugged him along in his wake and two weeks apart had made it even more impossible than usual for Zitao to resist. 

Jackson hadn’t had the energy for much more than trading languid kisses under the spray and letting Zitao wash him, making occasional noises of interest as Zitao had retold some stories from his past few weeks, like about having dinner with Joonmyun and Minho and spending a day at Zuma Beach with Mark and Sehun. Even just holding him had been good beyond words. Almost four years together means that Zitao doesn’t feel quite right when they’re apart anymore, too used to Jackson’s voice and touch and presence, and it had been months since they were last apart for any length of time.

“Mom says you have to come with me next time,” Jackson says now, like he’s reading Zitao’s mind.

Zitao smiles at the thought. “She texted me that, too. I’m sorry I couldn’t this time.”

“You’re taking tomorrow off, right? Tell Victoria she owes me.”

“I’m all yours,” Zitao promises.

Jackson hums contentedly. “Good,” he says, nosing in and brushing his lips against Zitao’s once, then again. Zitao half-expects that to be it, but instead Jackson cups his hand against Zitao’s cheek, tilting his face up as Jackson deepens the kiss, his other hand slipping down to Zitao’s chest so that he can thumb over each of Zitao’s nipple piercings in turn.

These kisses have all the intent that the ones they shared earlier lacked. Zitao can feel Jackson’s cock starting to stiffen against his hip and tugs lightly on his hair just for the way Jackson groans into his mouth.

Zitao finally breaks away for air, and Jackson takes the chance to readjust their positions, rolling onto his back and insistently pulling Zitao over to straddle his waist. “Don’t you need to rest?” Zitao teases.

“Two weeks to make up for,” Jackson reminds him.

“You kept saying we were making up for it _before_ you left.”

Jackson shakes his head. “There’s too much,” he says. Zitao kisses him again and again, familiar, much-missed heat flooding through his system as Jackson’s hands curve around his ass, guiding him down so that their bodies can rock together in an easy, familiar rhythm. 

It would be so easy to keep doing this, kissing and touching and grinding against each other until they both come. But all at once Zitao decides he wants to welcome Jackson home a different way. 

Jackson utters a disbelieving noise as Zitao pulls away. “Tao, what-” His pupils are blown, mouth red and slick from Zitao’s. 

Zitao wants to lean back in and pick back up where he’d left off, but he resists. Jackson being home again needs to be marked by something special. “I want to do something,” Zitao tells him.

“We _are_ doing something.”

“Something else.”

“Like what? Blowjob?”

“You’ll see.”

“Thigh fucking?”

Zitao has to laugh. “You’ll see. You’ll like it; it’s one of your favorite things.”

“Cuddle fucking?” Jackson asks hopefully.

That’s not the right answer, either, but Zitao makes a mental note for tomorrow. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to gag you,” he says for now.

“But that’s not one of my favorite things,” Jackson says, widening his eyes, and Zitao has to kiss him again; lets Jackson wrap his arms around him and pull Zitao down on top of him again, _claiming_ him, the way he’s claimed Zitao a thousand times over, intentionally or not.

Jackson teases him about being easy to spoil, but Zitao likes spoiling Jackson, too. He still keeps his plan firmly in mind, but he trades lazy kisses with Jackson for a while, just quietly exulting in Jackson warm and solid underneath him, stubble slightly rough beneath Zitao’s fingertips.

“Had enough?” Zitao teases, though it comes out hazier than usual, when Jackson pulls away.

Jackson shakes his head. “What about my present?”

Zitao kisses his pouting lower lip. “I don’t know, this is good for me…”

“Whatever you want,” Jackson says with possibly the worst attempt at nonchalance Zitao has ever heard.

He leans in like he’s going to kiss Jackson again, then moves out of reach, leaving Jackson to whine until the sound breaks as Zitao mouths over his piercings instead. “On your stomach,” he murmurs in Jackson’s ear, and Jackson is quick to obey.

Zitao kisses his way down Jackson’s spine, his hands slowly stroking along his sides, nipping gently once in a while just to hear Jackson’s sharp intakes of breath. After he brushes his lips against the base of Jackson’s spine he stops where he is, glancing up at Jackson. “Lube?” 

Jackson reaches for the bottle on the nightstand, then pauses and looks back at Zitao, eyebrows raised. “That’s not where you put it the last time we Skyped.”

Zitao grins. “I was thinking about you.”

“You didn’t let me _watch_?”

“You were at dinner with your grandparents!”

“Then you should’ve sent pictures after or something!”

Zitao holds his hand out for the lube, shaking his head as Jackson finally hands it over. “Like I didn’t send you plenty of pictures already.”

“Like you could send enough,” Jackson returns, pleasing Zitao enough that he leans up briefly to kiss Jackson again.

“Spread your legs for me,” Zitao murmurs afterwards, a breath away from his mouth, and feels a tremor go through Jackson as he obeys, raising his ass slightly without even being asked.

Zitao pops the cap on the lube, rubs his fingers together as if spreading lube on them, then closes the container again. Honestly, between lingering travel exhaustion and arousal Jackson’s awareness is probably low enough that the act probably isn’t even necessary, but Zitao isn’t taking any chances. He doesn’t want Jackson to know what he’s getting ahead of time.

It pays off when Jackson moans, low and already desperate, at the very first touch of Zitao’s tongue against his rim. “ _Tao_ -”

Zitao lifts his head, lips curling as he catches sight of Jackson’s stunned gaze. “Still want to make out instead?”

“Hey, no, finish what you started!” Jackson says quickly, and Zitao laughs and nips one of his ass cheeks lightly before picking back up where he left off, spreading Jackson open further so he can lick slow, deliberate circles over his entrance. 

Zitao’s _missed_ this—Jackson’s body hot and writhing under his, Jackson’s constant stream of choked-out syllables and stunned noises, the sound of Jackson jerking himself off, his rapid pace in contrast to the teasing strokes of Zitao’s tongue. Normally Zitao would have told Jackson to keep his hands on the headboard so that he could draw this out, but he’s feeling indulgent and he’s not sure how much Jackson is up to, anyway, no matter how alert he seems.

Zitao lets his mouth wander, just long enough to suck a kiss on the inside of Jackson’s thigh. Jackson drops onto his elbows, the hand he had braced against the mattress giving out. Zitao laughs quietly before kissing his way along Jackson’s body again, sparing a moment to lightly suck each of Jackson’s balls in turn before returning his attention to Jackson’s slick entrance.

Jackson yells into his pillow, his hips pressing back, as Zitao slips his tongue past Jackson’s rim. As always, Zitao can’t remember why he let so much time pass since the last time he did this. The way Jackson always comes so undone for him is something he needs to see more often.

Jackson rocks back against Zitao’s face, frantic now. Zitao can hear him panting for air. When Zitao slips in first one finger, and then two, alongside his tongue, Jackson full-body shudders. “Tao—Tao, let me, I want to-”

Zitao lifts his head at that, his fingers picking up the pace. Jackson’s the most giving person Zitao has ever been with, both in bed and out of it. It’s one of the things Zitao loves most about him, and it’s all part of why, once in a while, Zitao wants to have all the focus entirely on Jackson. 

“No, this is all for you,” Zitao tells him now, relishing the way Jackson moans when Zitao follows this up by curling his fingers at just the right angle.

Zitao sucks another kiss on Jackson’s other thigh, parallel to the first, and feels Jackson grind down against the mattress. He’s close, Zitao knows, hearing the cadence of Jackson’s heavy breathing and feeling how his legs are trembling. Zitao sits up and flips him over quickly. Jackson grabs his hair with the hand not clinging to the sheets, and Zitao lets out a moan of his own before he lowers his mouth over Jackson’s cock, taking him deep, two fingers fucking unerringly into Jackson. 

Jackson’s loud, endless babbling of _oh my god oh my god oh my_ — breaks as his body goes stiff under Zitao’s hands. Zitao sucks harder and strokes over Jackson’s prostate one last time before freeing his fingers so that he can cup Jackson’s balls, and Jackson utters a long, wordless cry as he spills into Zitao’s mouth, Zitao swallowing as much as he can take. 

Zitao waits until Jackson looks at him again, then sticks out his tongue just far enough that Jackson can see the come still coating it. Jackson groans, eyes rolling back again, and Zitao hums with exaggerated satisfaction as he swallows.

He honestly expects Jackson to just pass out then and there, but he should have known better. As soon as Zitao sprawls out next to him Jackson rolls over, propping his head on Zitao’s shoulder, and wraps his hand around Zitao’s cock, his touch hot and welcome. It’s only a few minutes before Jackson starts yawning, his grip starting to go slack, so Zitao covers his hand with his own and strokes both over himself together, closing his eyes as Jackson presses sleepy, open-mouthed kisses to his neck. Zitao comes between their fingers, Jackson stroking him through it.

Still shaking a little, Zitao nestles against Jackson’s side, needing to be closer to him now more than ever.

“I was clean,” Jackson mumbles, staring blearily at his hand.

“You’re such a baby,” Zitao says affectionately. He grabs a tissue from the box on the nightstand and wipes Jackson’s hand for him, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles when he’s done.

“Boyfriend of the year,” Jackson slurs.

“I know,” Zitao says smugly.

“I meant me.”

Zitao backhands his bicep lightly before wrapping himself around Jackson, nuzzling his neck and feeling as well as hearing Jackson’s contented sigh. “I love you,” Zitao murmurs.

“Love you more,” Jackson says, the response a reflex by now. Zitao laughs and looks up at him in time to see Jackson’s gaze dart to his mouth, Jackson’s own lower lip jutting out suddenly.

“What are you _pouting_ about?” Zitao asks with a disbelieving laugh.

“Can’t kiss you now.”

Zitao grins. “You still can,” he says, and leans in, laughing even more when Jackson promptly covers Zitao’s mouth with his hand.

“Mouthwash first,” Jackson says sternly, the effect somewhat spoiled when he yawns immediately after.

Zitao kisses Jackson’s palm before tugging his hand away to predict, “You’ll be asleep by the time I come back.”

“Will not,” Jackson insists. “You’ll see.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Zitao says, drawing the word out just for how Jackson tries to scowl in response. He leans down and kisses Jackson’s cheek, barely catching the corner of his mouth. “Love you.”

“So wash your mouth then,” Jackson returns, his eyes already sliding shut as he burrows against his pillow.

Jackson’s snoring by the time Zitao gets back, as expected. Zitao smiles at the sight of him before getting into bed, moving as carefully as he can so that he won’t disturb Jackson. Jackson stirs anyway, just long enough to wrap his arm around Zitao’s waist and cuddle his way into Zitao’s space. Zitao brushes a kiss against the top of his head, feather light, before his own eyes drift shut. 

The last, half-aware thought that registers for Zitao is the quiet satisfaction of knowing that Jackson’s face will be the first thing he sees in the morning, the way life’s supposed to be.


End file.
